


There is always space for a siege

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy Gentleman, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It might not be a traditional siege, but the analogy still holds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is always space for a siege

There is always space for a siege. There is always a backyard, or a dead-end street, or a building site, or a rooftop, or maybe even a disused room, somewhere. If there is any space, sooner or later, Trim will find it, and then Toby will find it, and between the two of them, a siege will just appear.

Neither of them is entirely certain why or how, but it doesn't matter too much to either of them. They like sieges, and even if the models have gone from beautifully handcrafted canons, and wooden houses to Lego-buildings, and chess-figures, it's still a siege, and it's still what they do.

And so, when politics start spinning too fast to keep up with, and the shouting gets louder, and it takes a while for them to catch up, and already they have come close to almost firing a minister before the siege is finally set up, but it's a pattern they are used to, coming a bit late and having to catch up, and they are practiced.

It's a small room, in a small building, with a carpet whose only redeeming feature seems to be that it's hard to tell whether or not it's clean. The dirty-white wall has been part-ways covered with newspaper clippings, text rather than pictures, and the way they've been arranged looks as though there is a part missing. Interviews and editorials and headline news, arranged around a missing central part. Neither Trim nor Toby have so far managed to get a handle on that missing piece. They know his name, and they've met him, but the news seem strangely oblivious and avoidant, and it's difficult to be entirely certain why.

But apart from that, their siege looks as complete as can be, considering how improvised it tends to be. So far, it's mostly chess pieces as ministers, and lego-men as their advisors, a defence mounted with building-block towers, playmobile and lego weapons, and a centre piece that looks almost like a city, a picture of the prime minister taped to a handful of building-blocks.

And that's where the sieges tend to break down between elections. Because there are too many fronts and troops to correctly represent. There is an opposition, mostly set up from the same curious mix of chess pieces and lego-figures, and those pieces are possibly the ones mostly like a classic siege.

But then there are the enforcers, the journalists, the bloggers, focus groups, chat shows, any number and variety of bits and pieces that are difficult to represent and keep track of. They can switch sides at any moment, and their influence is almost unpredictable before it plays out. Toby minds a lot more than Trim does, with none of his treatises being much use in a model where the war is almost entirely metaphorical.

There was a moment, in the beginning, where Trim had been trying to keep track of everything, all the various ministries and departments, and there had been Toby's surprisingly useful discovery that a janitor really could be anywhere, anytime, without any questions asked.

But it seems that currently, most departments are running as smoothly as a government department can run, and the one most in need of attention, and the one most likely to tear the current government down is what is apparently called the Department of Social Affairs, and what no one has any clear idea of its goals or duties.

There is a small section of the siege that has been transformed to reflect that, slowly taking up more and more space and colour in the otherwise bleak room. There are two towers, made from carton rolls. One of them far too high and thin for stability, with a terribly coloured tie and a black clump of wool on top. It doesn't have any of the usual lego weapons, but at some point, Trim had glued a number of strangely packaged condoms to it.  
The other tower is grey. There's very little else to it. It's just grey, and while it would make a really stable tower, it doesn't seem to be doing much else. Currently, it's wearing a party hat.  
Between them, there is something. It's not entirely clear what, but it has a small clipboard, a ballpoint pen, and something that almost looks like sneakers. In keeping with the siege theme, one might call it a gate, for a rather peculiar value of gate.  
Several inches in front of this rather curious section of siege is a piece of marzipan. So far, Toby has valiantly refrained from enquiring about its shape too much. Trim had mumbled something about rather tasty but potentially poisonous, and had avoided the original question rather inelegantly, and that had been the last thing said about the subject.

In a corner of the room, there is a small desk, a number of newspapers, a computer, and various crafting supplies for emergency additions and changes to their siege, and something that would, for lack of a better term, be called a janitor's uniform. It was useful for getting information they should not be getting, and it did allow them to keep up with changes and details that the press might not catch.

Of course, sooner or later, the news would catch up, they always did, but it usually is a lot easier and quicker to get the information directly from the source, rather than having it filtered through various ideas and opinions and political colouring.

So, it's a new day, and a new chance for everything to go wrong in some previously undiscovered and inconceivable way. And of course, the first sign of that is the sudden and unexpected arrival of two new players.

There is a woman in Terri's place, someone whose primary quality seems to be a strange sort of contagious greyness. Trim has known of her existence for about five minutes, before he decides to represent her with a ball of newspaper wearing a party-hat. He will consider the addition of a clipboard if she happens to stick around for long enough.

And then Toby opens the door, more careful than necessary, carrying two cups of coffee. "Do we still have a cannon?" is the first thing he asks, before he even says good morning.

"Good morning," Trim replies, from where he is still kneeling awkwardly in front of their two carton towers.

It's quiet for a moment, while Toby mentally adjusts to trying to have a conversation, and Trim is carefully trying to stand without putting undue strain on his leg.

"Good morning," Toby finally replies. "Do we still have a cannon?"

Trim takes one of the cups from Toby's hand, smiles a thanks at him, and turns to the small pile of crafting material. There might be something useful in there, something they can convert into whatever idea Toby is currently fixated on. There are a few options, but none of them seem to be particularly suited to the task.

"Who's the newspaper?" Toby asks, interrupting the silence.

Trim tells him. There's not much to say, so far.

Toby makes a sound somewhere between a question and an acknowledgement. Then he joins Trim at the desk, looking for something that might become a cannon. There is a red ballpoint pen that seems to be made almost entirely out of metal, and with some duck tape and a decent frame, this might make a useful model. And then Trim holds out his hand, presenting another five or six of those pens.

And they look at each other, look at the pens, and slowly, slowly, Toby starts smiling. "Volley guns," he says. Trim nods.  
And then they start working, taking the pens apart, wrapping the metal in black tape, and it's only another moment before between them, they have built a fairly decent organ gun. It, too, gets a party hat.

They set it down next to the piece of marzipan about whose shape they don't talk. The marzipan, upon careful consideration, also gets a party hat.

***  
It's still some time before lunch, and so far, nothing much has happened. The tower with the black wool has somehow acquired yet another strangely packaged condom, and a toy phone. An almost identical tower has been added to the opposition. It's wearing a party hat with a name on it. Trim isn't entirely certain whether it will turn out to be relevant, but he had needed something to do while he waited for new information.

It's Toby who finds the information, these days, because Trim really can't be walking too far or for too long with his bad leg, and anyways, he is better at handling computers that Toby could ever be. So he sits at a tiny desk in a tiny room and does what research he can.

The clock on the desk beeps half past eleven, and Toby enters with their lunch and a worryingly broad smile. "There is a woman," he tells Trim.

And immediately the worry sets in. Toby and women are a terrible combination, and Trim is not prepared to deal with any of it right now. It's difficult enough to accept that there are women around Toby, where Trim can't be, but having to listen to the details is just too much.

But Toby brought sandwiches and fresh tea, so Trim tries to not let it get to him, and just enjoy his lunch. Toby has brought him a tomato-mozzarella sandwich, and it's Trim's favourite, and it should be something he enjoys, even if the situation is all wrong.

And then Toby starts giggling. "She's asking the minister embarrassing questions, and he doesn't know how to answer them," he says.

And Trim realises that he's gotten it all wrong. Toby is not talking about a _woman_ woman, but about a new player in the mess they call politics. And now Trim can't help but smile. Of course, this is merely a delaying of the inevitable, and not really a solution, but Trim is happy with every minute of reprieve he gets.

He sets the sandwich aside, and starts picking up the pieces for a new player.

"She's asking him if he's ever cleaned up his mother's piss", Toby tells him, still giggling.

Trim is startled into giggling at that, too, and for the moment, he stops worrying about women. Instead, he settles on a bright yellow ballpoint pen. He adds a strap of blue tape, and the by now mandatory party hat. He isn't entirely certain how this happened, but somehow, this has become A Thing.

So he adds the party hat, and then sets the pen down, squarely opposed to their careful set of towers and weapons and marzipan. He shuffles a number of the ballpoint pens strewn across the carpet, various journalists and newspapers. Most of the even carry the relevant logo, and Trim is still rather proud of himself every time he is reminded of that. It seems they have found and settled today's skirmish, and it would be rather ridiculous, such a minor thing, but that's politics and Trim has gotten used to it.

"There is a budget mishap in IT, as well," Toby says, still sitting at the desk. "Apparently, someone's son has lost several billion pound."

Trim looks at the skirmish he's set out, and then picks up a number of other pens. Budget mishaps tends to either disappear very, very quickly under other news, or result in several rather loud and embarrassing resignations.

Toby tells him what little he knows, and it's only two other pens Trim ends up adding to the set-up. He might need more, if this progresses any further, but for now two of them are enough.

Toby finally stands, grabbing the remains of Trim's lunch, and bringing them over. They finish lunch sitting on the carpeted floor, Toby shuffling a few of the other departments, to account for the radio news. It's not much, it never is, but it's generally easier to move the relevant pieces early on, before the effects have spun too far out of control.

It's a little past one when Toby leaves again, and Trim turns back to the computer.  
***  
Towards the middle of the afternoon, numbers start appearing. The budget incident Toby mentioned over lunch starts to show up very, very tentatively, there are a few mentions of it, but the numbers are inconsistent, and they don't add up properly, and Trim isn't entirely certain what to make of them.

He's just gone for a moment, to get himself a cup of coffee, and when he comes back, Toby is sitting in front of the two towers, moving various pieces back and forth, as though he isn't entirely certain of what is going on, either.

Trim hands Toby a cup of coffee, and stops short when he realises that he didn't even think twice about getting two cups. He's so used to this, so used to always getting two of everything, because of course he will end up sharing it with Toby. And then Toby accepts the cup, says his thanks, and they sit there on the floor in companionable silence, waiting for more news to come in.

It's almost turned into a routine by now. They spend the first half of the day getting up to date on the facts and agenda, and then, sometime around three or four in the afternoon, they find themselves in their little office again, drinking coffee and waiting to see how it plays out. It usually takes the evening news to finalise the day's happenings, because regardless of what happens, the real results are not the actual politics, but the public's reactions.

The clock ticks over to five o'clock, and Trim moves to lean on the wall, stretching his legs out before him, careful not to accidentally kick over any of their siege. Toby goes to get more coffee, and then sits next to Trim, and closes his eyes. It's another hour or two before the first of the evening news get out, and so there is time yet for a nap.

And Trim doesn't usually mind being used as a pillow, but today is not a good day, and his emotions are still a bit too close to the surface, and Toby's head leaning against his shoulder, heavy and familiar, is as comfortable as it is heart-breaking. Because all Trim wants to do is cuddle closer, and then hopefully not move away for a good long while. For now, though, he will have to settle with carefully putting his arm around Toby's shoulders, and trying not to fall asleep, because he is fairly certain he would end up embarrassing himself one way or another.

It's half past five when Toby ends up cuddling closer, and Trim would find his timing remarkable, if his heart weren't currently trying to beat its way out of his chest. As it stands, he is far too busy feeling helplessly young and in love to make any significant observations. He does, however, manage to turn on the evening news. That is, what will be the evening news in about half an hour. For now, it is only an attempt at distracting himself and hopefully not doing anything too incriminating.

It's another half an hour of staring very determinedly at pictures moving on a screen, and trying his best to ignore Toby moving closer and closer in a sleepy search for warmth. It's a relief when the clock finally beeps six o'clock and Trim has excuse to wake up Toby before he has an entire sleepy boss in his lap.

But apparently the waking up doesn't help much. Because Toby simply cuddles closer, while the woman screen talks about cleaning up her mother's piss, and one of the advisors is shouting at her, and this situation shouldn't be romantic, not with a crazy woman and a politician on a television screen being embarrassing, but it's been a slow day, and there is nothing much happening, it seems, because this is the sort of thing that happens almost every day, one politician or another cutting a terrible figure on a TV-screen, and so the only thing that needs to happen before they can turn off the TV and go home is moving the relevant pens aside again, forgotten for the moment, but ready to be dug out again when the elections roll around and people are trying to make each other appear bad in the news.

But when Trim moves to get this done, Toby doesn't seem too inclined to let got, clinging just a bit closer, if that is at all possible. The quiet has a strange quality for a moment, when Trim is certain that one of them should be saying something, but neither of them actually is, and it might turn awkward if the silence continues for too long.

And todays budget mishap has disappeared under a politician looking useless and rude, and nothing seems to have happened, nothing that will have any impact on the greater political landscape, even with the addition of two new players, and they are sitting in that small office, and Trim wishes that he could somehow get out of this situation, or maybe stay there forever, and he has no idea what he should do now.

And then Toby turns to look at him, smiles, and says "I would like to kiss you now."

Trim returns the smile, and leans down to touch their lips together.


End file.
